anaheim-gazette 1880-06-12

ANAHEIM GAZETTE. MICHARD MELROSE, Editor and Proprietor PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY. Little Girlie. Little girlie's three years old, Baby's just a week; Little girlie thinks it queer Baby cannot speak. Little girlie, wondering, asks Whence did baby come? Mother says, 'God sent him here From his heavenly home." Little girlie epe's her eyes; Does not understand. Mother tells her lovely things Of the Happy Laud. Little girlie hops away, To the cradle creeps; Softly lifts the curtain up, To see if baby sleeps. Then, in her most winning tones, Soft we heard her say, "Baby, was God pity well, When you came away?" Polly's First Lie. "Just look at Ket Holcomb's shoes. They are cow-skins, just such as our ploughman wears. Well, that is too bad!" The girls turned to watch hob-nailed Ket as she came stamping towards them. It was after school. The grass had just been cut in the seminary grounds, and the half-dozen boarders were lying on the heaps of hay under the walnut trees. Their bright faces, and airy blue and pink summer dresses, made a pretty picture, with the green branches rustling overhead, and the clouds making flying shadows upon the lawn. Ket's figure looked dark and uncoath in the sunshine. "What an object she is!" said Amy Powers. "Why, girls, actually she is wearing her old flannel, and the thermometer at ninety degrees! She only has two calico dresses, and her mother, she told me, makes her keep them for Sunday." The new boarder, Georgia Somers, turned languidly to look at Ket, twirling her diamond ring on her finger. She knew quite well that the girls were watching her with awe and admiration. She was from the city, and was an heir-old! I wish I could see your mother, I would tell her what I think of such condnet!" Keturah's anxious eyes were watchfully fixed on Polly's face. "You can do more than that to help me. Just write a note to mother, and say that the package is yours—that I was bringing it to you." "But that would be a lie. Ket! No, I can't do that!" the color rising in her cheeks. "I know it's a great deal to ask," said Ket, humbly. "There's not another girl in school would do it. But you are so good! I heard Amy Powers say you would cut off your right hand to serve a friend. She said you would be faithful forever to those you loved; that you weren't like other girls." "Oh, I suppose I'm no better than other girls," said Polly, smiling complacently. "Any true woman would cut off her hand for a friend." "I don't ask you to cut off your hand, but only to sign your name. See, I made a little copy of a note," holding it out eagerly. "If you would just scribble it off, I'll take it to mother." Polly read the note. "Madam:—The package found in Keturah's drawer is my property. I asked her to bring it to me from a friend. If you will send it to me unopened, I shall be very grateful. "Respectfully, Mary Moore." "Package? You said it was a novel, Ket." Yes, so it is. A perfectly harmless novel,'Scott's Monastery.' When mother gives it to me to bring to you, I will just return it to Mrs. James, and there will be an end of it. If you won't write the note, I shall be punished. I feel ill," she added, after a pause, "that I believe it will kill me. And I don't much care!" clasping her hands behind her neck, and looking up. "O Keturah, don't talk that way! You look perfectly wretched. I think it's horrible for parents to act as yours do." "It's not my parents. It's you! You might save me, and you won't! Here, give me the note again. I'll go home and take the punishment." "No, no, I'll write it. It's a lie, but"—— "Here's my pen and ink, and I have a sheet of paper in this book." Keturah placed all the materials before Polly, and pushed her down on the steps of the school-room. "You're impatient," said Polly, coldly, dipping her pen again and again in the ink. "If it were you who had the lie out the note which Keturah tated. 'Do you deny writing?'" Polly stammered, grew more Then she turned to her mother notes a lie, matma. I save Keturah, Dr. Holcomb from punishment. She the package contained a novel had borrowed." "It contained a vile Freud which my daughter wont touch," said Mrs. Holcomb note from James Pory to you revealed your relations to him. "The Mother," cried Polly, believe me? "It is very natural," she comb, severely, "for you fail in love unwisely. It is for them to sacrifice themselves other." Mrs. Moore, who had Polly's frantial appeal, she despairingly." Come home she said," I thank God that been revealed before it was. "I will not go home rugraced! I have told a lie done no worse. Send for Pory. He will not dare the letter was written to me." "That is not necessary Holcomb. "Pardon me. It is no Polly's father. "The young lady says without motive," said I. "Why should she tell when she has every reason Her father motioned 'We will go,' said the broken voice. Polly's hand touched a of paper in her pocket. her feet as if it had been shock. "Look at that!" she cry is the note that I copy writing is that?" holding Holcomb's face. "It is Keturah's! O Keturah's!" "I copied it at her re have told you the truth that it is word for word I wrote. Could we both exactly the same words ter was a copy of the other will not dare to say the quaintance of his—for him." "I see," groaned Dr. R is my child's writing. I done you grees injustice. Keturah was expelled school: a bitter and seve "What an object she is!" said Amy Powers. "Why, girls, actually she is wearing her old flannel, and the thermometer at ninety degrees! She only has two calico dresses, and her mother, she told me, makes her keep them for Sunday." The new boarder, Georgia Somers, turned languidly to look at Ket, twirling her diamond ring on her finger. She knew quite well that the girls were watching her with awe and admiration. She was from the city, and was an heiress. The other boarders in the seminary were the daughters of neighboring farmers. Ket was a day-scholar from the neighboring village. "What does it mean?" she asked. "I think you said this girl's father was a professor in the college. Of course a man in that position must be terribly straitened. But he is not a pauper. This girl is dressed like a pauper." "Oh," cried Amy, hurriedly, in terror least somebody would steal her bit of gossip, "it's nothing but sheer cruelty in the Holcombs. The old doctor actually whipped Keturah's brother with a raw hide—a great boy of seventeen—because he stole off to go to the circus. Ket and Andrew are never allowed to visit any of the neighbors' children, or to ask anybody to go home with them. Ket is always breaking some of her father's rules, too, poor thing!" "Is she whipped?" "No. But she is locked in her room, and kept on bread and water, and made to commit the Psalms. She told me she actually hated the Bible. She only knows it as a punishment." "I never heard of anything so hard and unfeeling!" exclaimed Georgia, sitting upright, staring at Keturah, who had stopped to speak to one of the teachers. She was a pale, thin girl, with light blue eyes, which had a frightened furtive look, like those of a hunted animal. "Now, Amy, there is something to be said on the side of the Holcombs," said Polly Moore, gently. "If there's anything good to say, you may be sure, Georgia, that Polly will say it," said Amy, laughing; "she is the best-natured soul alive." "The Holcombs, I have heard papa say," said Polly, "belong to a very strict religious sect, and are training their children by old-fashioned rules. They think that all amusements, pretty dresses, gayety of any kind, is sinful. Here she is. What is the matter now, Ket?" Ket's pale face, as she came up, bore marks of recent strong excitement. "What is it, Ket?" called Amy. Got into a scrape with Mrs. Forayth? "No, worse. At home." Whew-w!" Amy's pretty mouth uttered a boyish whistle. Ket's hands were clutched nervously on her books, and her eyes were full of tears. "Can we help you, child?" demanded Georgia, who was a kind-hearted soul at bottom. "No. Nobody can help me but Polly. Will you come here a minute, Polly?" Polly Moore jumped up eagerly from You look perfectly wretched. It takes its horrible for parents to act as yours do." "It isn't my parents. It's you! You might save me, and you won't! Here, give me the note again. I'll go home and take the punishment." "No, no, I'll write it. It's a lie, but—— "Here's my pen and ink, and I have a sheet of paper in this book." Keturah placed all the materials before Polly, and pushed her down on the steps of the school-room. "You're impatient," said Polly, coldly, dipping her pen again and again in the ink. "If it were you who had the lie to tell, you would not be in such haste." "Don't tell it then." said Keturah, in a voice which nervousness made shrill. "But I think the girls will not be so sure of your amiability when they hear this story." Polly's pen flew over the paper. "There it is," handing her the note. "Now you are saved." "Yes, I am saved, I hope." Without a word of thanks, she thrust the note into her satchel, and hurried out of the grounds. "What was the matter with her?" asked the girls when Polly came back to the walnut-trees. "Oh, some trouble at home. I got her out of it." "Did you?" said Georgia. She didn't look as if she was out of it when she went through the gate. Do you think she told you everything, Polly? Polly did not answer. Her heart was heavy and cold. She had told a lie, and she had a vague suspicion that she had been tricked in some way. "No matter." she said at last; "I'm sure it's always right to help a friend." "Always," said the girls in chorus. But it was not easy for Polly to put aside the weight of this lie, and to feel sure that it was right to help a friend by doing wrong. Aside from her little vanity, she was a pure, well-principled girl. Her father was a country clergyman, and Polly was the oldest of the family, her mother's hope and comfort. She lay awake half the night, wondering what her mother would say if she knew what she had done. "But there can no harm come of this lie, it was so very white," she thought in the morning, as she tried to quiet her acusing conscience. Classes went on as usual until noon. Then Mrs. Forsyth came into the school-room. There was a red heat on her thin cheeks. "Miss Mary Moore will retire to her room, and remain there until she is called for." The girls stared. The teacher stood at the blackboard, the chalk in her hands. Polly had never before required a reprimand. This public disgrace was terrible. She rose and went to the door. The room grew dim about her. Half an hour later, Amy tapped at her door and whispered at the key-hole, "Your father and mother have come! They are with Miss Forsyth now. She telegraphed for them. And old Dr. Holcomb and his wife are in the parlor too. They look like Pharos's lean kine! O Polly, dear, what have you done?" But Polly made no reply. She heard it is not my parents. It's you! You might save me, and you won't! Here, give me the note again. I'll go home and take the punishment." "No, no, I'll write it. It's a lie, but—— "Here's my pen and ink, and I have a sheet of paper in this book." Keturah placed all the materials before Polly, and pushed her down on the steps of the school-room. "You're impatient," said Polly, coldly, dipping her pen again and again in the ink. "If it were you who had the lie to tell, you would not be in such haste." "Don't tell it then." said Keturah, in a voice which nervousness made shrill. "But I think the girls will not be so sure of your amiability when they hear this story." Polly's pen flew over the paper. "There it is," handing her the note. "Now you are saved." "Yes, I am saved, I hope." Without a word of thanks, she thrust the note into her satchel, and hurried out of the grounds. "What was the matter with her?" asked the girls when Polly came back to the walnut-trees. "Oh, some trouble at home. I got her out of it." "Did you?" said Georgia. She didn't look as if she was out of it when she went through the gate. Do you think she told you everything, Polly? Polly did not answer. Her heart was heavy and cold. She had told a lie, and she had a vague suspicion that she had been tricked in some way. "No matter." she said at last; "I'm sure it's always right to help a friend." "A musical Jury" That music hath charm: the breast of a school-boy this anecdote of Chopin called a "story without fear." If his father's pupils noise in the house, Frederic to place himself at the piano instant and perfect quail when Prof. Chopin was a frightful scene. Barein present, was at his wife Frederick, happily entwined Without deliberation, he roysterers to sit down., who were making a noisy promised to improvise story on the piano if they quite quiet. All were instantly asleep and Frederic sat down ment and extinguished them described how rebbers house mounted by ladder dows, but were frighten noise within. Without on the wings of the widest dark wood, where they der the starry sky. He and more softly, as if children to rest till he hearers had actually fallen. The young artist noot out of the room to his sisters,and asked them with a light. When he amused themselves with postures of the sleeper down again to the piano thrilling chord.at wa sprang up in a fright.was the finale of this music... INVIOLABLE—A friend his property,even when another.The confidant up.even from his own should not be content with betraying it to other also refrain from betray self.F if a man consigns taining treasure to the he will justly feel that has been to a degree comes to know that tha Ket's pale face, as she came up, bore marks of recent strong excitement. "What is it, Ket?" called Amy. Got into a scrape with Mrs. Forsyth? "No, worse. At home." "Whew-w!" Amy's pretty mouth uttered a boyish whistle. Ket's hands were clutched nervously on her books, and her eyes were full of tears. "Can we help you, child?" demanded Georgia, who was a kind-hearted soul at bottom. "No. Nobody can help me but Polly. Will you come here a minute, Polly?" Polly Moore jumped up eagerly from the hay where she lay, with a glance askance at Georgia, wondering if she knew that she always was singled out as the one amiable helper for the poor and needy. Girls at school usually exaggerate each others' virtues. Georgia was a diamond queen, Amy an absolute beauty, and Sue Jeffreys a wonder of intellect, in the eyes of their class. Now Polly had no claim to pre-eminence but her good-nature. It was real, but it certainly had developed to a remarkable degree since Sue Jeffreys had written a composition in verses in which were the lines— "Wide as the fridescent sea, Gentle as Aurora's down can be, Is the love in thy tender heart, Marie." Everybody know, of course, that Marie was the more refined name for Polly. Such of the girls as had not noticed Marie's amiability before, found it almost aggressive in its sweetness after this composition was read. She walked now with Ket across the grass plat. "What can I do for you, dear?" she said. "You must do it, Polly Moore!" said Kethurah, in a vehement whisper. "Nobody will but you, and if you don't, I'm ruined!" "What is the matter?" said Polly, gravely. "You know that I am not allowed to read novels. I borrowed one from—well, a woman who lives up the road, a Mrs. James, and mother found it out, and father is going to punish me." Her lips began to work convulsively, and the color left her face. "Punish you? Keep you on bread and water again?" Polly's eyes flashed indignantly. "And you sixteen years" The girls stared. The teacher stood at the blackboard, the chalk in her hands. Polly had never before required a reprimand. This public disgrace was terrible. She rose and went to the door. The room grew dim about her. Half an hour later, Amy tapped at her door and whispered at the key-hole. "Your father and mother have come! They are with Miss Forsyth now. She telegraphed for them. And old Dr. Holcomb and his wife are in the parlor too. They look like Pharaoh's lean kine! O Polly, dear, what have you done?" But Polly made no reply. She heard Amy sourry away as Miss Forsyth's stiff silk skirt rustled along the hall. She opened the door. "Come Mary." "O Miss Forsyth, what have I done?" "Silence! Do not pretend innocence. We know everything. To think that such disgrace should fall upon my school! Twenty years I have been building it up!" "I've done nothing to bring disgrace on anybody but myself," thought Polly, plucking up courage. But she lost it all when she entered the parlor and met her mother's white face, still wet with tears. Polly walked up to her father. "Papa, what does this mean?" Her father thrust her sternly back. It was the first harsh look or word he had ever given her. "It means," said her teacher, "that we know how you have broken the rules of the school; how you have carried on a clandestine correspondence with a young man of infamous character, and that you had planned to elope with him. If it had not been for these kind friends," motioning to Dr. and Mrs. Holcomb, "you would have carried out your intention, and brought ruin on yourself and on the school. Your father will remove you immediately. But I must make your expulsion public, for example's sake. You—you were my favorite scholar, Mary!" and the old lady's voice broke into a sob. "There's not a word of truth in the whole story!" said Polly. "What young man are you talking of?" I know no young man. I have not written any letters. What proof have you of all this?" Your own acknowledgment, young woman," said Dr. Holcomb, drawing out the note which Keturah had disdicated. "Do you deny your own writing?" Polly stammered, grew red and pale. Then she turned to her mother. "That note is a lie, mawma. I wrote it to have Keturah, Dr. Holcomb's daughter from punishment. She told me the package contained a novel which she had borrowed." "It contained a vile French romance, which my daughter would dread to touch," said Mrs. Holcomb, "and a note from James Pory to you, which revealed your relations to him." "Mother, cried Polly, 'won't you believe me?' "It is very natural," said Dr. Holcomb, severely, "for young girls to fall in love unwisely. It is not natural for them to sacrifice themselves for each other." Mrs. Moore, who had hesitated at Polly's frantic appeal, shook her head despairingly. "Come home, my child," she said, "I thank God the whole has been revealed before it was too late." "I will not go home ruined and disgraced! I have told a lie, but I have done no worse. Send for this James Pory. He will not dare to say that his letter was written to me." "That is not necessary," said Dr. Holcomb. "Pardon me. It is necessary," said Polly's father. "The young lady says that she lied without motive," said Dr. Holcomb. "Why should she tell the truth now, when she has every reason to hide it?" Her father motioned her to rise. "We will go," said the old man, in a broken voice. Polly's hand touched a crumpled bit of paper in her pocket. She sprang to her feet as if it had been an electric shock. "Look at that!" she cried. "There is the note that I copied. Whose writing is that?" holding it before Mrs. Holcomb's face. "It is Keturah's! O husband, it is Keturah's!" "I copied it at her request—and I have told you the truth. You will see that it is word for word like the letter I wrote. Could we both have written exactly the same words unless one letter was a copy of the other? Mr. Pory will not dare to say that I am an acquaintance of his—for I never saw him." "I see," groaned Dr. Holcomb. "It is my child's writing. I think I have done you gross injustice." Keturah was expelled from the school; a bitter and severe lesson for Wedding Presen's in Rome. As soon as an "engagement" is made, the man is compelled by custom to present his affection bride with ring, watch, chain, locket, ear-rings and bracelet—a complete set of jewelry, in fact. These presents are as expected as the lady's legitimate trousseau. The husband furnishes the house, and his family generally provide the house linen. On the wedding day, the bride's father usually presents her with ear-rings, a brooch and bracelet, unless she prefers money, in which case an amount equal in value is added to the dowry, which is scarcely ever paid down. It is either a claim on landed property, or the property itself is entrusted to the husband to administer during his wife's life. If he improves it, all the better for him or his heirs; but in any case he must be prepared to turn it over intact to his children, if he have any, or to his wife's family should he have no issue. No husband, therefore, can benefit by his wife's death in Italy, as the dowry he receives is merely entrusted to him during his wife's life. The husband, too, or his father, must insure the safety of the dowry by a corresponding amount of property. Departures from this rule are rare in respectable families. As for the trousseau, which is generally complete enough to last until the first child has attained majority, it is frequently made by the bride herself, helped by members of her family. Girls prefer to do this when they can, for mothers take pride in showing their own trousseau to their daughters. These trousseaux, for the beauty of embroidery, excel anything of the kind in Paris. I have seen chemisettes which it took four years to embroider. Needle-work forms a most important branch of an Italian girl's education, and she begins very early to learn how to cut and make clothes. The Qaenencourages this by frequently visiting the schools, and rewarding the best workers, to whatever class they may belong. A little countess is as proud of her bronze medal as is the hnmblest rag-picker's child. Each is allowed to practice on materials of her own, so that everything she wears may be made at school. Her trousseau, or at least the trimming for it, is gradually made in the same manner. When the wedding day is known, each intimate friend of the family has a large card printed with the names of the happy couple, the date of the marriage, and appropriate wishes for the occasion; expressed in prose or verse. Some are A Settler's Thrilling Escape From Indiana Just below Kanawha Falls, in West Virginia, writes a correspondent of the Louisville Courier-Journal, is an over-hanging rock of immense size jutting out about one hundred feet over the soothing whirlpool, and about the same height above. This was once the scene of a remarkable adventure. The Indians were in hot pursuit of Van Bibber, a settler and a man of distinction in those early times. He was hard pressed, and all access to the river below and above being cut off, he was driven to this jutting rock, which proved to be the jumping-off place for him. He stood on the rock, in full view of the enemy above and below, who yelled like demons at the certainty of his speedy capture. He stood up boldly and with his rifle kept them at bay. As he stood there he looked across the river—saw his friends—his wife with her babe in her arms, and helpless to render assistance. They stood as if petrified with terror and amazement. She cried at the top of her voice: "Leap into the river and meet me!" Laying her babe on the grass, she seized the oars and sprang into the skiff alone. As she neared the middle of the river, her husband saw the Indians coming in full force and yelling like demens." Wife, wife," he screamed," I'm coming; drop down a little lower." With this he sprang from his organd and descended like an arrow into the water, feet foremost. The wife rested on her oars a moment to see him rise to the surface, the little canoe floating like a cork, bobbing about on the boiling flood. It was an awful moment; it seemed an age to her; would he ever rise? Her earnest gaze seemed to penetrate the depths of the water, and she darted her boat farther down the stream. He rose near her; in a moment the canoe was alongside of him, and she helped him to scramble into it amid a shower of arrows and shot that the baffled Indians poured into them. The daring wife did not speak a word; her husband was more dead than alive, and all depended on her strength being maintained till they could reach the bank. This she did just where she had started; right where the babe was still lying, crowing and laughing. The men pulled the skiff high up on the sand, and the wife slowly arose and helped to lift Van Bibber to his feet. He could not walk, but she laid him down by his babe, and then seating herself she wept wildly, just as any other woman would have done under the circumstances. "It is Keturah's! O husband, it is Keturah's!" "I copied it at her request—and I have told you the truth. You will see that it is word for word like the letter I wrote, Could we both have written exactly the same words unless one letter was a copy of the other? Mr. Pory will not dare to say that I am an acquaintance of his—for I never saw him." "I see," groaned Dr. Holcomb. "It is my child's writing. I think I have done you grees injustice." Keturah was expelled from the school; a bitter and severe lesson for her, and one that threw a shadow over her whole life. Let us hope that out of it came an earnest endeavor to retrieve the past, and to deserve the respect that comes to true moral worth. Polly, as you may suppose, was led very clearly to realize that neitker love nor friendship can justify a lie. Youth's Companion. A Musical Joke. That music hath charms to soothe the breast of a school-boy is proved by this anecdote of Chopin. It might be called a "story without words." If his father's pupils made too much noise in the house, Frederic had only to place himself at the piano to produce instant and perfect quiet. One day, when Prof. Chopin was out, there was a frightful scene, Bareinski, the master present, was at his wits' end when Frederick, happily, entered the room. Without deliberation, he requested the roysters to sit down, called in those who were making a noise outside, and promised to improvise an interesting story on the piano if they would be quite quiet. All were instantly as still as death, and Frederic sat down to the instrument and extinguished the lights. He described how rebbers approached a house, mounted by ladders to the windows, but were frightened away by a noise within. Without delay, they fled on the wings of the wind unto a deep dark wood, where they fell asleep under the starry sky. He played more and more softly, as if trying to lull children to rest, till he found that his hearers had actually fallen asleep. The young artist noiselessly crept out of the room to his parents and sisters, and asked them to follow him with a light. When the family had amused themselves with the various postures of the sleepers, Frederic sat down again to the piano, and struck a thrilling chord, at which they all sprang up in a fright. A hearty laugh was the finale of this musical joke. INVIOLABLE.—A friend's secret is ever his property, even when confided to another. The confident should look it up, even from his own thoughts. He should not be content with refraining from betraying it to others, he should also refrain from betraying it to himself. If a man consigns a casket containing treasure to the care of another, he will justly feel that his confidence has been to a degree violated, if he comes to know that the latter has been in the habit of unlocking the casket and the schools, and rewarding the best workers, to whatever class they may belong. A little countess is as proud of her bronze medal as is the humblest rag-picker's child. Each is allowed to practice on materials of her own, so that everything she wears may be made at school. Her trousseau, or at least the trimming for it, is gradually made in the same manner. When the wedding day is known, each intimate friend of the family has a large card printed with the names of the happy couple, the date of the marriage, and appreciate wishes for the occasion; expressed in prose or verse. Some are beautifully illuminated and cost as much as fifty francs to print, because several hundred copies are made. Every member and friend of both families expect a copy of each card sent. Sometimes even a thousand copies do not suffice. Now, the more of these cards are received, the happier are the bride and bridegroom, and they prefer a card to a present, for a card extols their youth, appearance and virtues. Wedding presents are, however, creeping in a little even here, but in a mild ferm, and are given mostly by ladies who do not send cards. The female friends of the bride work sofa-cushions, footstools, pincushions and similar things. Sometimes a vase with a plant in it is given. But this is all.—The Tour. Human Nature. Those who are accustomed to the ways of children cannot fail to see how greatly they resemble men and women upon whom, indeed, they unconsciously model themselves. They are, too, alarmingly keen-sighted as to the inconsistency between our words and our acts. I believe many a child learns its first lesson in deception from the illjudging mother or nurse who tells it that the nauseous medicine "tastes good." It looks a little matter at that time, and the object to be gained—getting the child to swallow the medicine without a fuss—seems of more consequence than the "white lie"—can a he be white or small?—but, though the child may be too young to put its conclusions into words, it unconsciously loses one or two things—confidence in its mother, or its own regard for truthfulness. Then have you ever observed the conduct of boys and girls when they meet together at children's parties—how marked is the relative position of the sexes? How like are they to children of larger growth! The boys all rush for the prettiest girl or the best dancer, and will continue to do so; and the girls are vain and jealous, self-conscious or unassuming, as the circumstances of their home-training may have educated them to be. If the unstudied actions of boys and girls are any indication of the future of the coming men and women, I should say that women will seek and enjoy the admiration of men, and men will continue to prefer the society of those women who contribute most largely to their comfort, pleasure and self-satisfaction, quite as decidedly for the next fifty years as for the last five hundred. A desire for the admiration of the other sex, no matter which we may happen to belong to, is the incentive which incites A SINGULAR INauguration.—In the election of a President of the United States, the rival candidates generally get abused, through the newspapers, by several parties, before it is finally decided which one will be elected. It is the politicians' last chance, and they are sure to improve it. The Milwaukee Sentinel quotes an amusing example from Africa, which is a fair burlesque of the rough American custom: We vaguely recall a custom said to prevail among a tribe of negroes in the interior of Africa. When the king dies the heir-apparent is first seized by the people and clothed in the most wretched garments. Then he is seated upon INVIOLABLE.—A friend's secret is ever his property, even when confided to another. The confidant should look it up, even from his own thoughts. He should not be content with refraining from betraying it to others, he should also refrain from betraying it to himself. If a man consigns a casket containing treasure to the care of another, he will justly feel that his confidence has been to a degree violated, if he comes to know that the latter has been in the habit of unlocking the casket and pouring over its contents day after day as if it were his own, and that, too, in an exposed position. So with the secret. Though confided to a friend, it still belongs to him by whom it was confided, who has his own reasons for performing this act of friendship; and to have it continually before the mind is not only making, in one sense, another's property one's own, but it is exposed to the danger of escaping at any unguarded moment in one form or another, sufficiently at least to give grounds to surmise which may closely bear upon the truth. DEAFNESS OF THE AGED.—Nothing is more common than to hear old people utter querulous complaints about their deafness; but those who do so are not perhaps aware that this infirmity is the result of an express and wise arrangement of Providence in constructing the human body. The gradual loss of hearing is effected for the best purpose, it being intended to give ease and quietude to the decline of life, when any noise or sounds from without but discompose the enfeebled mind, and prevent peaceful meditation. Indeed, the gradual withdrawal of all the senses, and the decay of the frame in old age, have been wisely ordained, in order to wean the human mind from the concerns and pleasures of the world, and to induce a longing for a perfect state of existence. A contemporary prints a poem called "Gather Ripe Fruits, Oh, Death." And that would be best. It is so new that the small boy gathers the fruits before they are ripe, and Oh Death gathers the small boy.—Norvician Herald, The Streets of Paris. Shade trees and small parks (each decorated with appropriato statuary or fountains) are a specialty of Paris. The streets are generally speaking, wide, and few are at all old in appearance or very narrow. While there is not everywhere a look of newness, yet there is nowhere an appearance of great antiquity in the street; the buildings being of light colors, a cream tint prevailing, none of red brick or one of brown stone, makes all look cheerful, if not especially modern. The remarkable cleanness of the streets is due to the excellent drainage. In the granite curbstones are places about eight inches square, cut down into the stone, with iron trap doors to cover. From these places, a pipe, three inches in diameter, comes out through the curbstone toward the gutter. Men and women go about, and after the streets have been swept with the machines, or by the hand-brooms, as the case may be, and the dirt left in the gutter, they open these places, turn on the water, and an abundant supply is afforded in the gutters. All the refuse dirt is then swept into the sewer-openings. The pipes named are at proper distances apart, and are everywhere to be found, where their use may be demanded. The sewers are on so grand a scale that they are one of the objects of especial interest to the tourist. Through some of the principal sewers are sidewalks, and even cars for transit of the curiosity-seeking visitor, and thousands visit them annually. The supply of water is great, and the means of conveyance perfect. A SINGULAR INVOGUERATION:—In the election of a President of the United States, the rival candidates generally get abused, through the newspapers, by the several parties, before it is finally decided which one will be elected. It is the politicians' last chance, and they are sure to improve it. The Milwaukee Sentinel quotes an amusing example from Africa, which is a fair burlesque of the rough American custom: We vaguely recall a custom said to prevail among a tribe of negroes in the interior of Africa. When the king dies the heir-apparent is first seized by the people and clothed in the most wretched garments. Then he is seated upon the ground, and the people address him in the vilest language and treat him to a perfect shower of abusive terms. After this they attack him and drive him through the streets, pelting him with mud while, and lashing him vigorously with switches. At the close of this interesting performance he is washed, arrayed in the most gorgeous apparel, treated with the most lavish courtesy and respect, crowned with infinite ceremony, and forever after implicit obeyed. THE RAILROAD UP MOUNT VESUVIUS. To climb Vesuvius travelers had to start from Resina, west of the volcano, and not far from the Portici station on the Salerno Railroad, or from Pompeii and Torre dell Annunziata on the southeast. But now the former will alone be taken, as a railroad is just completed up the great cone of the mountain. Tourists will now take the carriage-road from Resina to the Hermitage of San Salvatore and the Observatory, but instead of getting out of the vehicles as formerly, continue by a new road, to the foot of the cone. Then the inlined railroad is taken, and the cars are drawn up in eight minutes by ropes to the summit of Vesuvius, a great improvement over the old system of being carried in litters. At the railroad station are convenient cafe and restaurant, a cistern to supply the stationary engine with water, and a house for the railroad people. The road is about 900 yards in length, and ascends at an angle of fifty degrees. The rails are laid on a heavy plank bed, and, for greater safety, two cables are used. The plan is thus of Engineer Olivieri. DR. W. N. HARDIN, Office and Residence, Corner Los Angeles and Spruce Street, ANAHEIM, CAL. J. H. YOGUM, M. D. Physician & Surgeon, Office and Residence corner Centre and Palm street, with office house at Pergamon & Lake's Drug Store, from 9 to 10 A.M., and 4 to 5 P.M. ANAHEIM, CAL. DR. ALICE HIGGINS, PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON OFFICE—Corner of Lemon and Centre Streets. ANAHEIM. VICTOR MONTGOMERY, Attorney at Law NOTARY PUBLIC, ANAHEIM, CAL. Office at Santa Ana on Tuesdays and Fridays. P. O. address, Anaheim, Cal. R. W. SCOTT, ATTORNEY AT LAW, NOTARY PUBLIC Commissioner of Deeds for Arizona Territory. ANAHEIM, CAL. Bank of Anaheim, CAPITAL STOCK, $100,000.00. S. H. MOTT President B. F. SEIBERT Cashier DIRECTORS. H. MABURY, E. F. SPENCE. B. F. SEIBERT, S. H. MOTT, O. S. WITHERBY. This Bank receives Deposits, Loans Money, Buys and Sells Exchange and Currency, makes Collections and transacts a Gener- DR. H. L. COWAN, DENTIST, HAS OPENED AN OFFICE in the upper part of Him. Main's building, Los Angeles Strook, Anaheim. Having had twenty years' experience, he can speak with confidence of his work. His scale of prints will be very low. He will be found in his office every day between the hours of 9 A.M. and 8 P.M. R. DREYFUS & CO. Growers and Dealers in California Wines AND GRAPE BRANDIES. 521 and 523 Market Street, SAN FRANCISCO. 92 and 94 Cedar St. NEW YORK. THE BEST OF ALL LINIMENTS FOR MAN OR BEAST. When a medicine has infiltribly done its work in millions of cases for more than a third of a century; when it has reached every part of the world; when numberless families everywhere consider it the only safe reliance in case of pain or accident, it is pretty safe to call such a medicine. THE BEST OF ITS KIND. This is the case with the Mexican LINIMENTS FOR MAN OR BEAST. When a medicine has infailibly done its work in millions of cases for more than a third of a century; when it has reached every part of the world; when numberless families everywhere consider it the only safe reliance in case of pain or accident, it is pretty safe to call such a medicine. THE BEST OF ITS KIND. This is the case with the Mexican Mustang Liniment. Every mail brings intelligence of a valuable horse saved, the agony of an awful scald or burn subdued, the horrors of rheumatism overcome, and of a thousand-and-one other blessings and merries performed by the old reliable Mexican Mustang Liniment. All forms of outward disease are speedily cured by the MEXICAN Mustang Liniment. It penetrates muscle, membrane and tissue, to the very bone, banishing pain and curing disease with a power that never fails. It is a medicine used by everybody, from the rancho, who rides his MUSTANG over the solitary plains, to the merchant prince, and the woodcutter who splits his foot with the axe. It cures Rheumatism when all other applications fail. This wonderful LINIMENT speedily cures such ailments of the HUMAN FLESH as Rheumatism, Swelling, Stiff Joints, Contracted Muscles, Burns and Scalds, Cuts, Bruises and Sprains, Poisonous Bites and Stings, Stiffness, Lameness, Old Sores, Ulcers, Prosthites, Chliblainis, Nore Nipples, Caked Breast, and indeed every form of external disease. It is the greatest remedy for the disorders and accidents to which the Burru Curarion are subject that has ever been known. It cures Sprains, Swimmy, Stiff Joints, Founder, Harness Move, Hoof Discs, Foot Plot, Survive Worm, Seahallow Horn, Serathes, Windeleys, Spurin, Earley, Ringhouse, Old Sores, Poll Evil, Film upon the Night and every other aliment to which the occupants of the Stable and Stock Yard are liable. A twenty-five cent bottle of Mexican Mustang Liniment has often saved a valuable horse, a life on crutches, or years of torture: It heals without a Scar. It goes to the very root of the matter, penetrating even the bone. It cures everybody, and disappears no one. It has been in steady use for more than twenty-five years, and is positively THE BEST OF ALL LINIMENTS FOR MAN OR BEAST. DIRECTORS: A. H. WILCOX, S. H. MOTT, LANKERSHIM, E. F. SPENCE, J. E. HOLLENBECK, O. S. WITHEBBY, H. MABURY, W. WOODWORTH. THE BEST OF ALL LINIMENTS FOR MAN OR BEAST. THE BANK IS PREPARED TO RECEIVE DEPOSITS ON OPEN ACCOUNT, ISSUE CERTIFICATES OF DEPOSIT AND TRANSACT A GENERAL DANING BUSINESS. Collections made and proceeds remitted at current rate of exchange. THE STEARNS' RANCHOS. ALFRED ROBINSON, Trustee. 120 Sutter St., San Francisco, California. EIGHTY THOUSAND ACRES OF LAND FOR SALE IN LOTS TO SUFF. SUITABLE FOR THE CULTURE OF ORANGES, LEMONS, HIMES, SIP, ALMENDRA, AVENUE, APPLES, PATCHES, YEARS, ALBUM, COUNTS, BARLEY, DAX, RAMIE, COTTON, etc. Also many thousand acres of NATURAL EVENGREN PARTURES suitable for dairying. Good water is abundant at an average depth of six feet from the surface. On almost every acre of this land flowing american wells can be obtained, and for more elevated positions can be lurged by the water of the Geats And River. Most of these lands are naturally model, requiring only good cultivation to produce crops. THERE: One-fourth each; balances in one, two or three years, with ten percent interest. 1 a pleasure in showing their lands is parting evening land, who are invited to come and see the river before producing almost them. W. H. & M.B.H., Amesville, Los Angeles.